Wednesday, April 9, 2014

"Uncle Mike From St. Louis”

by Horace P. Sternwall

Edited by Dan Leo, LL.D.*,

illustrated by konrad kraus and danny delacroix

*Assistant Professor of Populist Literature, Olney Community College; editor of “A Girl’s Got to Do What a Girl’s Got to Do”: The Gwendolyn and Auntie Margaret Stories of Horace P. Sternwall, Vol. 1; the Olney Community College Press.

In fact the only other time she could recall Auntie getting quite so excited was the time her horse came in at 27-to-1 at the Hippodrome de Longchamp just the very day before they were due to move by necessity from their nice suite at the George Cinq to the slightly louche Hotel Modern on the rue Claude Bernard, which is where they always wound up when, as Auntie said, they were “low on the chips”.

Auntie was “doing her face”, smoking a cigarette, sitting at her make-up table in front of the mirror with all the little lights. She had taken this little table and mirror with them from New York to London to Paris and then to Monte Carlo and then back to Paris, then to London again, and back to Paris, then to Rome and to Berlin and back one more time to Paris and now back to New York again. She had a special padded trunk just for the table and mirror.

Serge wandered into the room, wearing his grey topcoat and hat and smoking a cigarette. Gwendolyn could see him in the mirror.

“Time to fly, dear Margaret,” he said. “Pierre’s waiting downstairs in the Hupmobile.”

“All right,” said Auntie Margaret. She turned and stared at Gwendolyn. “How do I look, darling?”

“I think you look just stunning, Auntie Margaret.”

“Thank you, darling. I needed that. I’m just all nerves.”

“Margaret, dear –” said Serge.

“All right, I’m coming.”

She took one last drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray; stood up, then bent down and touched her cheek to Gwendolyn’s but only slightly, not wanting to mess up her splendid make-up job.

“Wish I could come,” said Gwendolyn.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see your Uncle Mike later this evening after we attend to – you know –”

“That bit of business,” said Gwendolyn.

“Yes,” said Auntie Margaret. “Just a bit of grown-up business, but now we must dash or the poor man will be standing all alone on the train platform with not a soul to greet him.”

“Hurry, then,” said Gwendolyn. “And hurry back.”

“We will, darling. Soon as we attend to our, you know –”

“I know,” said Gwendolyn.

“Right,” Said Auntie. “All right, Serge, let’s blow.”

****

Gwendolyn hadn’t even known she had had an Uncle Mike from St. Louis until the day before yesterday, when they all sat eating dinner down in the Prince Hal Room.

Gwendolyn had told Auntie Margaret she would stay in the suite and do her homework and then read a book, but her homework was a matter of mere minutes, and so she sneaked down the stairs and walked down the back alley to the automat and had a slice of cheesecake and a cup of hot cocoa while she studied the entertainment section of the Daily News. Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast was playing up at the Adlephi, so she took the subway uptown and quite enjoyed the movie, and was back in the suite by ten reading Wuthering Heights. She fell asleep on the divan and then she was awakened by Auntie Margaret’s soft hand caressing her head.

“Darling,” said Auntie. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

Pierre and Serge were standing there behind her. Both of them were smoking cigarettes.

“Where is Uncle Mike?” said Gwendolyn.

“Uncle Mike - “ Auntie Margaret paused. She so rarely if ever paused. She had been crouching by the divan, but now she stood up. “Take my wrap, someone,” she said.

Pierre and Serge both came over, but Pierre got to the angora wrap first, removed it from Auntie’s shoulders, draped it over his arm. Pierre and Serge were both still wearing the topcoats and hats they had gone out in.

“We should go and take care of this, dear Margaret,” said Serge.

“Yes,” said Auntie Margaret. “I suppose you should.”

“Will you be all right here alone, dear Margaret?” said Pierre.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. I have Gwendolyn with me.”

At this point Gwendolyn was sitting up on the divan.

“Where is Uncle Mike?” she said.

“Where are my cigarettes?” said Auntie Margaret.

“Here,” said Gwendolyn. She lifted the silver cigarette box from the end table, opened it, and offered it to her aunt.

“Thank you, darling,” said Auntie Margaret.

Serge was right there with his lighter.

“Thank you, Serge,” said Auntie. “You’d better go now, the both of you. Hurry. I don’t want to think of him – just go, please.”

“You should have a drink, dear Gwendolyn,” said Pierre. “Let me fetch one for you.”

“No, Pierre, you really must hurry. I’ll make myself a drink, thank you.”